No Hope Kids
by tatelangdons
Summary: Violet and Tate discover they aren't so different from one another.


He's pacing. Not because he's nervous or worried about his session with Dr. Harmon but because he'd rather be elsewhere. Meaning elsewhere with her.

Every since he met her she had been all he could think about. During his own personal downtime, during his sessions, before bed, you name it. Tate would even dream about Violet Harmon if his condition allowed him to. She was the sudden headlight in a dark tunnel in his life. Violet was Tate's heaven sent or whatever you want to call it. He wasn't exactly religious but that's as close as he could get to describe her arrival into his dark and twisted world.

They had met exactly three weeks ago after his first session with her father. Well sort of. It wasn't exactly your typical introduction. Tate always had a weird way of getting the attention of others but he made sure to always leave his mark in the lives of others.

After his first session, he had spotted a figure moving through the crack of an open bathroom door in the hall and decided to investigate. Her back was facing him, her sandy blonde hair hanging all around her face, blocking off any chance of peripheral vision. If he was going to make an impression this was the perfect opportunity.

She had to be around his age. She was beautiful, average height, not too slender. Just his type… well that is, if he had one. Tate didn't really have time to think about girls as much as he'd like to. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror he decided she wasn't your typical Hollywood A-list beauty. She was different. Special.

He opened the door slowly, careful to avoid the loud squeal of the aging hinges, peaking just his head inside before his reflection appeared in the mirror startling Violet causing her to drop whatever she had been preoccupied with just before Tate's interruption.

"What the hell!" she shouted under her breath so that she didn't catch the attention of anyone else in the house. She wasn't really the damsel in distress type. She could handle herself.

Tate lifted his hands as a sign of peace. "I was just trying to introduce myself."

"By letting yourself into my bathroom? You sure you weren't planning on copping a feel or taking my life?"

He smiled, silently admiring her bold attitude towards him. He could be literally anyone but she didn't care. He liked that. She was bold. Someone with the same strength he had craved so badly.

The corners of his mouth dropped down when she moved to the side of the sink, crossing her arms, waiting for his reply. Out of the corner of her small frame hovering over the sink he saw a razorblade covered in crimson lying in the middle. Violet moved her eyes to connect with his again before realizing what he was now focusing on.

"Get out," she said, sternly.

She might have been strong on the outside but she had her secrets. Secrets she enjoyed keeping to herself because she didn't like to feel weak or broken. Fooling people into thinking she had it together was one of the many fronts she put up. She had even started to think of it as her own little game.

_Violet Harmon vs. The Oblivious _-Guess who had the high score?

But Tate was also known for putting on a show. Inside he had felt for her, wanted to tell her that he too used to harm himself but instead he took the opportunity to relish in what he had just done. He had broken the psychiatrist's tough, little girl's iron shield. He wasn't going to let this victorious moment go to waste.

"You're scared."

"Of what?" There was that attitude again.

"You're afraid I'm going to run to your dad and tell him daddy's little girl isn't as perfect as she pretends to be."

"I'm not." She was standing up straight now. As if she were standing up to him, proving herself to be the character she had always played for the world.

"Well you want my advice?"

He was inching towards her now. Her fear was practically radiating off her body. She was clutching the bottom of her sweater sleeves, digging her nails into the fabric like she was trying to stop herself from letting out a cry or losing her cool.

Their lips were almost touching now. His hot breath mixing with her forced cool and slow breaths.

"Not really," she said, raising an eyebrow to accent her newly formed mask. She was glaring at him, keeping a fixed stare. Her doe eyes matching up with his disturbingly dark brown pair. Half pissed that he was invading her space, half shaken by his ability not to care that he was doing so.

He laughed, smiling that big grin of his again but this time more devilish.

"But see… you're doing it wrong."

He reached down between them, grabbing her wrist gently and pushing her sleeve up slowly with his thumb. She drew in a deep breath just before he brushed his thumb over her fresh cuts, feeling the ridges of torn skin the blade had just recently made on her delicate little wrist.

Her eyes were wide now. She was speechless. She had never let anyone, let alone a guy, this close to her. She felt invaded but also relieved that the secret was out.

"If you're trying to kill yourself, cut vertically. They can't stitch that up."

The creases in the corner of her eyes started to swell again. She was growing furious. How dare he? He didn't know her, he didn't know that this was just her escape and she wasn't actually planning on killing herself. She just wanted to feel and this was the closest she could get. He had no right.

She pulled her wrist from out of his reach, pressing her backside hard against the bathroom sink.

"Get. Out." She muttered under her breath, firmly.

And he was gone.


End file.
